Chapter Forty-Seven
Reginald Fitzwilliam, eldest son and heir to the Earl of Matlock, was quite surprised when he arrived at the family townhouse only to be informed, in no uncertain terms, that he was to depart the next day for someplace called Meryton in order to rescue his cousin from folly.
He objected, as might any young man on the other side of thirty, to being told what to do, but he knew better than to object too strenuously.
His mother had rather a habit of getting her way.
And, with any luck, he would be back in Town within the week, dragging a dejected and recalcitrant Darcy behind him.
Lady Matlock sent a quick note to her nephew.
Darcy,
Reginald is in Town, and I thought to keep him out of trouble by sending him to you. Do keep him entertained, will you?
Aunt Eleanor
***
Mr. Darcy’s brows rose in surprise. Reginald was coming to Netherfield Park?
Whatever for? As for keeping Reginald out of trouble, it was near to impossible.
He had no vices and he was uncommonly smart.
Downright brilliant, his Oxford tutors had said.
But he had no interest in the social world, possessed no social skills whatsoever, and was certain to say the wrong thing to the wrong person.
He wrote books, for heaven’s sake, and had very little interest in anything else. In Town, he would go to museums and lectures, and then subject everyone to a good deal of discussion as to what he had learnt.
What he would do when he became the Earl of Matlock and was required to focus on estate matters was the subject of a good deal of unhappy family discussions.
His parents doubted that he would even marry, let alone sire an heir, and the estate was likely to go to Colonel Fitzwilliam’s sons; assuming the Colonel ever married!
Mr. Darcy went to see Mrs. Hurst at once. “Mrs. Hurst, it appears a member of my family is about to impose upon your hospitality.”
“Oh, is your sister coming to visit? She could never be considered an imposition, Mr. Darcy.”
“No, it is not Georgiana; it is my cousin, Reginald.”
Mrs. Hurst blinked at him a few times. Then she whispered, reverently, “The Viscount Worthing?”
“Viscount – oh, yes, I suppose so.” Mr. Darcy never thought of his cousin in terms of his title. He preferred to be introduced as Mr. Fitzwilliam.
“I shall tell Mrs. Thornton to prepare a room for him; do excuse me, Mr. Darcy!” And with that, she rushed off, before he could tell her not to bother with any special arrangements, as his cousin would not even notice them.
***
Mr. Fitzwilliam arrived at Netherfield Park late that afternoon.
He was introduced to his host and hostess, asked to be called Mr. Fitzwilliam, and then promptly engaged his cousin in earnest conversation.
“Do you know, Darcy, that I was planning to go to a lecture on the Princes in the Tower, but Mother sent me here instead. This is your doing, and I insist that you oblige me by returning to London with me as soon as may be.”
Mr. Fitzwilliam was led up to his room, where Mr. Darcy pressed his own valet, Durham, into service for Mr. Fitzwilliam. Half an hour later, the man returned and was offered refreshments. He accepted graciously enough and began to speak of his writing.
“Have you a particular topic, Lord Worthing?” Miss Bingley asked politely. “What do you write about?”
“I am writing a history of England,” he replied, solemnly.
“It is difficult work, requiring an enormous amount of concentration; as a result, I need an occasional distraction. I left the Matlock Estate to journey to London, in pursuit of such distraction, but Mother promptly sent me here. And, as I have said before, I prefer to be called Mr. Fitzwilliam.”
Mr. Darcy was puzzled. What on earth did his aunt mean by sending Reginald to collect him from Hertfordshire?!
Mr. Fitzwilliam had graduated from Oxford with high honours.
Everyone had hoped that he would then apply himself to learning how to step into his father’s shoes.
Unfortunately, since graduating, he had done nothing but work on what he considered his masterwork.
He claimed there was a publisher ready to print his History of England, but Mr. Darcy rather doubted it.
Were there not already enough Histories of England in the world?
Miss Bingley asked Mr. Fitzwilliam a good many questions regarding his writing, to which Mr. Fitzwilliam replied eagerly enough. Finally, Miss Bingley tired of a topic on which she had nothing to contribute, so she rose and excused herself.
The party broke up, but Mr. Bingley collared Mr. Darcy for a private conversation. “Darcy, what does he mean that he has been sent to bring you back to London?”
“I have no idea,” Mr. Darcy said. “But I will find out soon enough.”
Mr. Darcy went upstairs and knocked on Mr. Fitzwilliam’s door; when there was no response, he went to his own room, where he found his cousin waiting for him. “Reggie,” he sighed in exasperation. “It is not quite the thing to just walk into a gentleman’s room.”
Mr. Fitzwilliam shrugged. “What could you possibly have to hide in here? In any case, I must speak with you. Mother was absolutely insistent that you return to London at once.”
“And why is that?”
Mr. Fitzwilliam replied, “Something about you being in love with a country girl.”
Mr. Darcy’s jaw dropped. Was it possible that Georgiana had written to Aunt Eleanor?
“Looking at your face, I would guess that there is some truth to it,” Mr. Fitzwilliam observed.
“None whatsoever!” Mr. Darcy protested, his face flaming.
“Then you will have no objection to returning to London with me,” Mr. Fitzwilliam replied, smoothly.
Mr. Darcy ground his teeth. “I will consider it.”
“Then I will wait here while you are considering it. May I meet the young lady in question?”
“As it happens, there is a card party scheduled for tomorrow night. There will be dancing, and all the young ladies in the neighbourhood will attend.”
“I do not dance, Darcy, as you know. But I will attend if she will be there. Will she? The one with whom you are not in love?” Mr. Fitzwilliam asked, eyes narrowed.
“I am not in love – hang it! Yes, including her, yes.”